


Keep Me Warm

by delighted



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Comfort, Fluff, M/M, Sassy, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-26 20:59:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15671181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delighted/pseuds/delighted
Summary: It’s been raining a lot—and that leads to wet shirts being taken off... which maybe finally leads where it should.





	Keep Me Warm

**Author's Note:**

> It’s been raining, and I’ve been watching season one.... That pretty much explains it.

He’s been on the island for too long, he decides. That’s what’s done it. Because it’s honestly always the same damn temperature. Never varying by as much as it usually varies back in Jersey within about five minutes on a normal day. Never varying by enough to break from the fucking mindless monotony of it. The endless, dragging, never ceasing monotony of it.

Except. Well, the thing is, that’s not exactly true. It’s not even true at all. Because maybe it doesn’t vary a whole lot, but it sure seems to feel like it lately.

Hence the whole Been On The Island Too Long thing.

It’s been rainier than normal for summer. By kind of a lot. And not that typical Hawaiian soft misting rain that you can get by with barely even noticing, but a real solid substantial rain. The kind that catches you out and drenches you and leaves you shivering when you’re back in the brutal blasting air conditioning of the office.

So if he’s shivering as they stand around the tech table, so sue him. He’s fucking wet down to his socks, okay? His. Socks. Are. Fucking. Wet. This is just stupid. He has a change of shirt in his office, of course, and as soon as they work out what the hell this guy’s next move is, he’s going to change into it, because if he gets sick from this so help him he will punch Steve directly in the face. But he doesn’t fucking have dry socks, and that’s pissing him off so much right now.

So, yes, he’s fucking shivering.

The weird thing is, not only does Steve seem to be noticing, he seems... worried... about it. He keeps getting distracted and stumbling over his words, and that’s not like him. That’s not like him at all. It’s actually amusing Danny so much he kind of forgets how goddamn miserable he is. Doesn’t make him stop shivering though. But when Steve moves around the table, presumably to get a better angle on the surveillance footage they’re screening, and he comes right up next to Danny, knowing of course that Danny’s not going to move, gets right in his personal space, and just stands still right there. Close enough to wrap an arm around him, which for a moment is what Danny thinks he’s going to do—hold him close, warm him up.

Because of course Steve’s not shivering. No, not Steve. He’s got some kind of internal heater he can turn on with the flick of a switch. He’s never cold. You could dunk him in a bucket of ice, stick him in a walk-in freezer for twelve hours, he’d come out looking fresh and glowing as a fucking daisy.

But no, he doesn’t wrap Danny up in those sunshiny arms of his, doesn’t pull him close to that sheltering chest. He just stands there.

Thing is. It really helps. That freakish heat he emits seeps out of him at this close range, and it’s enough to get Danny to stop shivering, almost instantly. He doesn’t need to be able to see the big goof’s mouth to tell he’s grinning smugly as soon as it happens. But Steve doesn’t move from his new spot at Danny’s side for the whole rest of the briefing, and when they’re done and Danny is about to go change, Steve looks him up and down and whispers “I’ve got dry socks in my bottom left hand drawer.”

And Danny’s torn between “Of course you do because you like to swim fully clothed” and “I am not about to put my feet in your stupid Army socks” but he’s so stinking compelled by the idea of dry freaking feet that he just nods in appreciation and heads to Steve’s office before going to his to grab his dry shirt.

But like he pointed out, it’s been a lot rainier than normal this whole dang summer, so when he gets caught out in another torrential downpour only the next day, he nearly throws his gun. Because, and this time they’re done, and back in the fucking icebox they call an office, but the thing is Danny forgot to bring in a new back-up shirt. So he’s got no choice but to hope he dries kinda fast. Like before he turns into a personicle would be nice. Regardless, he’s got to finish this stupid report, so he’s sitting at his desk and he’s probably swearing a little too loudly as he does, and yeah, he’s shivering again... when Steve walks in, and of course. Of course the freak has more than one extra set of shirts in his office, because he walks in, white tee shirt in one hand, clean button up in the other, and, yeah, naked top half. He holds them both out, wordlessly offering Danny his pick, and he’s tempted, for one very long minute, he’s tempted to take them both and leave Steve half naked for the rest of the day because that would serve him right (not that the rain is his fault, exactly), and maybe getting to look at that broad, tan, tempting expanse would be somewhat enjoyable.

He caves, eventually, and points to the tee, and Steve—who seems to have followed at least a little bit of the processing that had gone on inside Danny’s head—throws the shirt onto Danny’s head, messing his hair even more than it’d already been messed, thank you so much Steven. Sheesh.

But, okay. He’s grateful for the shirt. And it fits him surprisingly well. And it’s surprisingly soft. And maybe it kind of smells like Steve. And maybe that’s kind of nice. In a completely not weird at all kind of way.

And the fact that Danny somehow forgets, after that, to bring in another back-up shirt? He’s got a lot on his mind, okay? It’s been really busy, and he’s had the kids over a lot, and he hasn’t had a lot of time to do the laundry, alright? Geez. Leave a guy alone, would ya? Besides, it’s not like he does it on purpose. It’s not like he comes to enjoy being given Steve’s clothes to wear. Not like he begins to get some strange comfort from finding at the end of a long rough day that he smells like his partner. Not at all. Because that would be just weird.

Wouldn’t it?

Besides, Steve doesn’t seem to mind. He’s kind of taken with it, actually. And maybe Danny’s imagining things, but when they have to go out on a case one time after they’ve changed, and Steve throws a button down shirt at Danny, and they’re so not his style—he likes the crisp pressed professional looking shirts, because yes he gave up on the whole tie thing eventually, but he still likes to pretend to be a professional, and not a jungle explorer like Steve—but the shirt, he admits to himself (just to himself) is soft, rather than crisp, and maybe he finds that a little bit comforting... and maybe, just maybe, okay, just a little, he might kind of like the way he catches Steve looking at him out of the corner of his eye. Appraisingly, perhaps. Smug, probably. And something else approaching realms they’ve not yet explored that maybe stirs something long-asleep somewhere deep within Danny’s chest.

But they’ve got a fucking case to work, so get your mind out of the gutter and focus, alright?

And of course they do because they are actually professionals, whether or not they always look it, and both of them are damn good at what they do.

Sometimes what they’re less good at is seeing what’s directly in front of them, plain as the tattoos on Steve’s arms, which are gloriously on display once more as he strips off yet another round of wet shirts some time the next week, and it’s not that Danny’s staring so much as he just can’t look away.

Of course Steve notices. Danny was convinced long ago that each and every time Steve could even remotely justify taking off his shirt in the line of work, he’s done it. Boldly, purposely, and right in Danny’s line of sight. It long ago ceased to shock Danny, but it still somehow ends up with him standing there with his jaw dropping open. And it’s not like Danny doesn’t see Steve half naked on a semi-regular basis. They do surf together usually once a week. And Steve isn’t terribly fond of clothing on the weekends especially in summer—though how he can tell the freaking difference between the seasons, Danny’s never worked out. But there’s still something about the on-the-job stripping that gets to Danny, and dang it, he wishes he understood that one because it’s damned inconvenient.

So here they are, on the job, soaking wet, and Steve’s decided he can’t possibly do whatever insane Super SEAL stunt he’s about to pull in a wet shirt. Which Danny thinks is just plain unfair of him, in all honesty. Because Danny’s gotta run the radios or whatever mildly-out-of-harm’s-way task Steve’s going to give him, and he’s got to do it in his wet shirt, because he does not work half-dressed thank you very much. Losing the tie is one thing. Working without a shirt, well, that’s just for Neanderthal animals. Of which group Steve is solidly a part. Especially when he grins like that at Danny, looking up at him as he gears up. And no one, absolutely no one, has the right to look that fucking sexy while getting ready to probably slit the throats of some stupid number of stupid smugglers or terrorists or whatever the hell they’re doing in there, Danny can’t remember the details right now, thanks, and it’s not like it matters, and shit, he can barely think straight, and what the fuck?

Of course Steve notices Danny’s flustered demeanor, and of course he gets concerned, and of course he’s an idiot, so he pauses, as he’s about to head in Ninja style, to put an arm around Danny, tug him too close, and say “After this, beers are on me, okay?” And Danny never believes that one, not even now, not even when Steve’s actually made good on it more times than not at this point, but it’s the principle of the thing, you know, so he laughs, which was probably Steve’s goal, and he shoves Steve away (which yes, means he gets to put his bare hands on that bare chest, thanks for noticing), and if that makes Steve shiver slightly, well, it is surprisingly cold out, especially since they’re wet.

Steve almost fails to save the day, but Danny is paying attention to his surveillance like the good detective he is, so he rushes in at the last minute and saves Steve’s ass, and maybe Steve’s actually a little bit grateful for once, and he really does buy their beers that night.

Maybe it’s because of that, maybe it’s something else, maybe there’s something in the rain, which they have been getting more than a little too much of on their bodies lately, and maybe it’s messing with their heads. But it sure seems like they’re flirting more than usual tonight. Because, let’s be honest, they’re basically always flirting. And maybe it’s because they are kinda cold, and Steve hadn’t had a choice but to put his wet shirt back on after his Ninja SEAL activities, and Danny actually wound up with the advantage because he’d left his on and so he dried faster. So maybe it’s Steve who is seeking heat this time when he moves closer to Danny. And a little closer still. Until their thighs are resting right up against one another, and Steve’s arm around Danny’s shoulder feels less companionable and more like he’s trying to communicate something with it. Not an easy, relaxed _hey, you’re my best friend and I have no problem showing it in public_ , but something heavier. Something wetter. And it’s seeping into Danny’s already drenched, saturated, full-up skin, and maybe that’s what does it, he’s so completely full of whatever all of this is that it just spills over. It has, finally, nowhere else to go.

As they’re walking back to the car, and there’s no one about, and it’s quiet, and it’s late, it starts to rain again, and they’re laughing because of course it’s so fucking fitting. But then they’re not laughing anymore. And it’s not like they don’t stare intensely at each other on a semi-regular basis, but maybe not as much as they used to, and maybe something of that sharp edge of whatever this is wore down over the years, maybe too many things dinged it, too many things scuffed it. But all of that feels washed away by the incessant rain, and what’s left feels somehow new and yet just as it used to. And maybe that’s important, but when they get to the Camaro, Steve kind of backs Danny up against the passenger door, and he splays his hands on either side of him, on the wet roof, and it makes this splashing sound, which for some reason sends a shiver down Danny’s spine. Or maybe that’s more to do with the way Steve’s got his body pressing up against Danny’s, and when Steve brings their lips together, and he’s not even close to gentle about it, Danny swears the moan he lets out has probably been right there on the edge waiting to escape for most of the day, and it feels so good to give into it, finally. To not have to balance on that sharp edge, to not be afraid of falling anymore, but to jump into it feet first, eyes open... to jump, and to know, Steve’s got him, he’s right there with him. Just like he always is.

Which in this case looks less like having his back in the midst of gunfire, and more like pressing him onto his back in the middle of Steve’s bed, only to Danny it feels very much the same. And it’s comforting in that familiarity, but it’s sharp and new as well. It’s thrilling and exhilarating, but he feels totally and completely safe and trusting... and _trusted_ as well.

And when he pushes back and flips the tables, presses Steve into the mattress, and just like in their fights, just like in their arguments, there’s always that moment when Steve just stops fighting and gives in, gives way to Danny... and Danny’s always suspected Steve actually likes that. And now he knows. Now he knows with absolute certainty that he does. Oh, god Steve loves it so much if the sounds he’s making, the ways he’s melting into the bed beneath Danny are anything to go by, and Danny pauses and pulls back to get a better look, because it feels like Steve is vibrating, pulsing, humming with pleasure beneath Danny’s fingers, lips, limbs... and yeah, Steve looks completely lust-blown, utterly wrecked, totally lost to it, and more than that, _basking_ in it.

His head kind of lolls to the side, and he grins sloppily, and he slurs out a dozy dopey “Heeeey, buddy, why’d ya stop?” and he reminds Danny of nothing so much as a dog who doesn’t understand why the belly rub has stopped, and his heart just melts, right into Steve’s already melting form on the bed, and he thinks vaguely as he returns to his worship of the body beneath him that probably he should give thanks to the island rain gods or something. Because this, this feels so very much like they’ve been pushed to it. Like they’ve had that ever-present lingering question of _will they or won’t they_ taken cleanly from their grasp and acted upon for them.

And that’s how it still feels the next morning, as they’re lazing in bed, limbs tangled, still half-asleep, deeply sated now not just from the wet of the rain but from the exertion, the release too long held back, too long resisted. The rain on the windows feels like a blessing, it feels like a celebration, it feels like a cleansing, a place from which to begin anew... and yet, somehow, as though they’ve been brought back to that beginning, where so much of the pain that’s swirled between them these past many years... not that it’s washed away. It will always be there, always be in their blood, in their bones... but somehow it matters less now. Because this, at least, is finally right.

“Come for a swim with me?” Steve asks Danny between kisses to each of his finger tips.

“In the rain?”

“Yeah, buddy, I love a swim in the rain.”

“That,” Danny says, as he rolls up and leans against Steve’s chest. “Is because you are insane.”

“But in the best possible way, right?” And it’s oddly endearing, how in need of affirmation Steve sounds in that moment.

Danny shakes his head in amusement, and he presses a kiss to Steve’s chest.

“Seriously, though. Come with me?”

And he’s reminding Danny of a dog again, needing his walk. But it is pouring out, and Danny’s had more than enough of the rain already thanks, so he rolls off Steve and on to his back, and he sighs.

“How about I keep the bed warm instead and when you’re back and showered, I’ll make it up to you.”

Maybe it’s his years of practice, managing Steve, or maybe it’s that puppy-like enthusiasm Steve has for just about all things, but he sits up like that’s the best idea he’s heard all week, and with one sloppy wet kiss to Danny’s nose, he springs out of bed like Danny’s challenged him to a race.

“Make me coffee first would you?” Danny calls after him as he bounds down the stairs, but then turns back into the pillow to half sleep some more, half muse over the strange yet wonderful turn his life’s taken, that this is where he is now, in his partner’s bed of all places, listening to the rain, smelling coffee brewing, and looking forward to a (hopefully) lazy morning in bed, and untold adventures still to unfold.

And yeah, that seems just about right.


End file.
